


Here, Now

by Snits



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Platonic Cuddling, Pre-Relationship, Touch-Starved, soft fbi agents, well sort of platonic you know these two fools
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:21:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25775053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snits/pseuds/Snits
Summary: "You really came all the way to Quantico to stay in your room, alone," she summarised, annoyed that she was going to be left to sit through the dinner by herself. "No," Mulder rolled his eyes. "I came to Quantico because I was told I had to come,"  he deadpanned. "Come on, Scully, I'm not going to sit through dinner in a room full of people who think I should be locked up in a secure unit."Mulder and Scully have a soft epilogue after an unpleasant FBI dinner.
Relationships: Fox Mulder & Dana Scully, Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 11
Kudos: 49





	Here, Now

The conference was at one of the biggest hotels in Quantico, equipment set up in one ballroom, the other reserved for a grand dinner in the evening; and Scully was carrying all of the luggage. 

"I should have a bigger chin," Mulder remarked, scrutinising himself in the mirror at the reception desk. "Don't you think my chin should be bigger?" 

"If you had a bigger chin, you'd look like an Easter Island head," Scully replied grumpily. "Can you stop admiring yourself for five seconds and give me a hand? The girl's gonna be back at any second, and I can't get to my ID because I'm carrying all of the stuff." 

"Is it my fault I busted my ankle in the name of justice?" Mulder said mildly, obediently going through the handbag dangling from Scully's wrist. "Oh, hey, mints! Can I have one?"

"ID," Scully said, glaring at him, _"now."_ Mulder smiled at her, unwrapping his mint. "You want one?" He asked sweetly, fishing another out of the bottom of the bag. "Yes," Scully answered peevishly, and Mulder looked pleased as he unwrapped it and dropped it into her open mouth. He found the ID eventually, just before the smiling girl behind the reception desk returned, and, with Scully sucking on her mint like she had a grudge against it, he handed over their badges with a disarming smile. 

They spent the day duly limping around the ballroom, looking at the new tech, stopping at booths to learn about new techniques, listening to a few presentations. At last, feeling exhausted and sweaty at the end of the day, they made their way back to their rooms. 

"Meet you here at seven-thirty?" Scully asked, as they waited for an elevator in the lobby, Scully holding goody bags for two, and Mulder leaning heavily on his crutches. 

"In the _morning?"_

"No!" Scully resisted the urge to shove him, "tonight, for dinner."

"Oh," Mulder jabbed at the elevator button, as though that would make it arrive faster, " _that._ I'm not going to that. I'm ordering room service. Uh, I'll meet you for room service at seven-thirty, if you like."

"You're kidding?" Scully said incredulously, as the elevator doors opened. Mulder limped through them without a reply. "You really came all the way to Quantico to stay in your room, alone," she summarised, annoyed that she was going to be left to sit through the dinner by herself. "No," Mulder rolled his eyes. "I came to Quantico because I was told I had to come," he deadpanned. "Come on, Scully, I'm not going to sit through dinner in a room full of people who think I should be locked up in a secure unit."

Their rooms were on the same floor, though on opposite sides of a corridor. Scully tried to persuade him all the way back to his door, which took longer than usual, thanks to the crutches. "You don't have to walk me home, I'll be fine," Mulder drawled, while she attempted to guilt him into not leaving her alone with the rest of the FBI. "And besides, they like you. Who could fail to like you, Dr Scully? You'll have a better time without me. If I was there it would just be awkward."

"Well, you _are_ awkward," Scully quipped. She sighed, opening his hotel room door for him. "I guess I can't change your mind," she said sadly, putting on her most pathetic face. "That's right, you can't," Mulder said pleasantly, taking his goody bags from her. "Thank you for carrying my free stuff, Ms Scully."

"You are not welcome, Mr Asshole," she said tartly. Even when the door closed behind her, she could hear him laughing. 

She took a long bubble bath, washed and styled her hair, and dressed in the outfit she'd brought with her for the dinner, a long, simple dress in the same deep shade of blue as the sky in high summer. The colour brought out the blue in her eyes, and the gold in her red hair. Briefly, she considered going to try and rouse Mulder out of his room, but eventually decided against it. He was a pretty stubborn guy. Her jewellery was all deep, buttery yellow gold, the effect of the whole outfit, when she stood looking in the mirror before she left, was luminous; she looked like a sea nymph, or maybe something come down out of the sky and the sun. Pleased, she toed into her heels and went downstairs. 

It's true to say there were a few people she was friendly with at the conference, apart from Mulder, and in truth, she only had time to get herself a drink before she was called over by a woman she knew. Although Scully didn't know it, she was a popular agent, people were as eager to say they knew her as they were to keep away from Mulder. Even the taint of his influence couldn't tarnish her shine. 

"Hi, Ruth," she said agreeably, answering the wide smile and eager waving. "Dana, you look sensational," Ruth said warmly. "Oh, thank you," Scully waved it off. "You, too," she added, gesturing with her wine glass to Ruth's black cocktail dress. 

"Oh, thanks," Ruth smiled, "I've had this for ages, but isn't it nice to be able to dress up?"

"Yeah, great. Should we go and sit down?" 

"Sure, you want to sit with us?" 

"If you'll have me."

"Of course, we'd love--oh. Um, where's Agent Mulder tonight?" 

Even if she hadn't asked it at that point, Scully would've caught the edge in her voice, as she began carefully trying to hedge her bets. In a second, she was certain that if Agent Mulder appeared around the corner, Ruth's table would suddenly have no room at it. It left a bitter taste in her mouth, but it was too late to back away now. She hadn't been planning to make excuses for him, but she found herself saying, "oh, he's not coming. He's on crutches, it's too tiring after all of the walking he's been doing today."

"Oh, that's a shame," Ruth replied, her face shining with relief. 

They walked into the ballroom, Ruth's wrist hooked possessively over Scully's elbow; heads turned as they passed, there was no denying Scully was a great beauty, and Ruth herself was as pretty as a doll. There was a table already populated with agents from their office, which Ruth steered them over to, mainly men, who were already a little tipsy. One of them wolf-whistled, but they were all looking at Ruth and Scully with more appreciation than she liked to see from people she worked with. "That's enough," she said, without inflection. 

To her surprise, it worked. The men fell silent, one of them nudging the whistler like a naughty schoolboy. It might've been cute if they hadn't been in their forties. She rolled her eyes and placed her clutch on the table, prepared to pull out a chair to sit. Three of the men got there first, tripping over themselves. She let just enough silence fall to be uncomfortable before she murmured, "thank you," gracious but ungrateful, and sat. 

It was mainly a dull affair. After the food, there were speeches and a few presentations, but people were mingling and talking quietly, not entirely listening to the hosts on the stage at the far end of the hall. The atmosphere was mellow, and after the initial unpleasantness, Scully was starting to enjoy herself a little. She was familiar with just about everyone at the table, and the good food and alcohol had gone a long way into relaxing everyone.

They were getting along well. The laughter hadn't faded from her face when one of them, a man named Karl Jacobs, suddenly said, "so, where's your shadow tonight, anyway?" 

It was a reference to the way that most of the time, when they had to interact with other people from the Bureau, Scully did the talking and Mulder stood behind her. She didn't know that's what they called him, but she should've caught it. Would've done, if not for the wine. 

"Huh?" She blinked at him, still smiling. "Spooky Mulder," Jacobs clarified, "where is he tonight, outside with his telescope?"

"Aw, don't be a bore, Jacobs," Ruth complained, swirling the last of her cocktail around in her glass. "No, I'm interested!" He protested, grinning. "Go on, Scully, where is he?"

"He's resting his ankle," Scully lied smoothly. A woman on her left, Laura, giggled suddenly, leaning into the conversation. "I saw him, hopping about earlier," she said wickedly, "how'd he do it?"

"Chasing ghosts," Jacobs supplied, provoking laughter. "Ruh-roh, Scully," a man across the table mimicked _Scooby-Doo_. "Nah, he probably just fell after the aliens let him off the space ship," another woman sniggered, reaching for the wine bottle. "Seriously, Scully, any time you want to be out of that nuthouse, you just mention it," the man beside Jacobs said solemnly, as though he were the voice of reason in the group. 

"I wasn't aware reassigning agents was within your pay grade, Wilson," Scully said coolly. He shrugged, smirking a little. "It's not. But Skinner owes me a favour," he jerked his finger towards the head table. "I can get you away from old Spooky any time you like."

"Are you kidding? He'll just assume she was abducted by aliens. He might dissect you!" Jacobs started laughing again, and the rest of the table seemed to be helpless against joining in. "What is he like to work with, Scully?" The woman with the wine asked, with a kind of hysterical seriousness. 

"Start the day," another man mimed reading from a diary, before Scully could speak, "'9am: get Agent Mulder out of his straitjacket'." 

"That's enough," Scully said, more forcefully than before, but the laughter was too loud and too infectious. It wasn't even particularly the things they were saying which had stuck so painfully in her throat; it was the manner in which it was said. There was very little malice. She had experienced the same thing around unconscious misogynists and racists; they spoke as if the things they said were absolute truth; nobody could deny them. On the surface, they didn't believe they hated him. Maybe if she'd had the time and inclination, she could sit there and boil them down to the core of the thought, that the fear and discomfort they felt around Mulder translated into raw hatred, but to them, in that moment, they would deny it, and pass a lie detector test. They didn't believe they hated him, they weren't trying to upset her. They were just talking about him the way they always did, because it was the truth. 

"He's so embarrassing," Jacobs gasped out, "do you know, at the academy, I had him going for two weeks thinking I'd seen a flying saucer in the drill yard? Started telling me about his sister being abducted by aliens out of her bed--he doesn't even _have_ a sister, as far as I know--"

"Well, not any more, she was abducted by aliens, didn't you hear?" Someone interjected, and they all began to laugh again, helplessly. 

"You're cruel, Bobby, poor guy probably thought he made a friend," Fatima giggled, wiping her eyes. 

Scully stood up. She did not stand up like she had reached the end of her tether, she simply stood, towering over the table, unsmiling. They stared at her, some of them still sniggering. "Excuse me, everyone," she said, and walked away, ensuring she was taking slow, measured strides. She didn't want to be accused of causing a scene, or storming out, and she certainly wasn't interested in arguing with the people at the table. "Hey!" Ruth called from behind her, tottering a little on her red heels as she tried to catch up. Scully stopped, waiting for her obligingly. "Are you okay? Did those guys upset you?"

"I'm fine," Scully replied evenly. She glanced back at the table, where they all seemed to be nudging each other and grinning, and she felt a great wave of disgust that she had spent any time at all with them. "I'd just like to go to bed now." She forced a smile. After all, Ruth had been kind to her all evening, and it certainly hadn't been her fault. She looked uncertain now, but she answered Scully's smile with one of her own. "They're assholes," she said, indicating the people behind her with a gesture, "but Mulder kind of brings it on himself, you know." 

"He's a good agent," Scully said, more archly than she meant to, "and a good man."

"Oh," Ruth gave her another wavering smile. "If you say so, Dana."

"I do say so. Goodnight, Ruth."

"Um, yeah. 'Night, Dana." 

She went up to her room in an elevator which was thankfully empty. If there had been crowds of tipsy agents waiting, she would've taken the stairs, no matter how long she would've had to climb for. The good parts of the night had been completely soured; she looked at her reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator, and recalled her pleasure at her outfit earlier on. She had a little smudge of mascara under one eye, and her lipstick needed to be refreshed. She felt far from the young, beautiful woman she had been when she left her room.

They didn't know Mulder, of course, because he had a reputation for being weird and credulous and intense and paranoid. The same reasons nobody knew him. They certainly didn't know what a lonely life he'd led until Scully was assigned to babysit him, they hadn't heard him explain that he no longer saw his extended family, or seen his blank expression when she talked about childhood friends. 

He wouldn't even stop working whenever he told a story which always ended in horrible isolation, as if he didn't notice it; he was just explaining the truth, the way her colleagues had explained the truth when they sat around the table and mocked him. Very few people liked Mulder, and it had been that way for so long that he no longer expected anyone to, and his spikiness had become less protective and more second nature. 

She alighted at their floor, and without thinking about it, went to Mulder's room, rather than her own. She had his spare key card; he was on crutches and it made sense for her to keep it in case he needed help. She knocked quietly on the door, in case he was already asleep. 

"C'm in," he called, sounding vague and croaky. She put her head around the door guiltily. "Sorry," she said softly, "did I wake you?" 

He was pushing himself up in bed, and though the lights and TV were still on, he'd clearly been asleep. He always did fall asleep with the TV on; it helped him, he said, to fall asleep. Like a white noise machine. Honestly, she thought it was to help with the nightmares. On the occasions they had had to share a motel room, she'd refused to let him keep the TV on at night, and regretted it when he woke her up at three in the morning, wide-eyed and sweating. The TV reassured him, in the armpit of the bad nights, that the world still existed outside his window. He wearing a white T-shirt, and was rumpled with sleep, his face pink. 

"No," he mumbled, "no, I was only dozing...would've got a crick in my neck if I'd slept like that." He gave her a sleepy smile, blinking languidly. The evening Scully had just sat through seemed more awful than ever, standing in that warm room, with Mulder so soft and unaware. She closed the door behind her, crossing further into the warm lamplight. He'd been reading a case file, and his dinner plates were still on the bed beside him. "You were gonna sleep with those in your bed?" She asked, wrinkling her nose. He huffed a little laugh, goofy and defenceless. "Well, it's a lot of effort for me to get up, Scully," he murmured. 

"So if you'd needed the bathroom, you'd just lie there and wet the bed," Scully quipped, reaching over and taking the dishes. She left them on the dressing table, beside the TV. Mulder yawned, sitting up and drawing his shoulders in to stretch his back. "You look great," he said softly, still croaky and quiet with sleep. "Hm? Oh, thanks," Scully said distractedly. She hovered by the bed, as if she wanted to say something. 

"You okay?" Mulder was looking up at her from under his hair, his tired eyes all pupil and concern, and she felt the little thing in her centre which had been all wound up by her colleagues' comments come loose and unravel. All the hate and the fear she had caught from them translated itself into love and affection; she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and brought him close, his cheek pressed gently against the small curve of her stomach. She slid one hand around him, into his hair, her thumb behind his ear, cradling him close. 

After a moment, she felt his arm curl tentatively around her knees, and he breathed out, his shoulders sinking as he relaxed into the embrace. His white T-shirt, old and baggy and washed-out, gaped at the neck, exposing the slope of his shoulder where he leaned against her. She slid her right hand down over his neck, finding his skin sleep-warm. He made a soft sound, and his shoulders trembled. He was more than a little touch-starved, she knew. She petted the gooseflesh again, and he sighed, nuzzling close for just an instant. _"Ah._ That's heaven, Scully," he murmured. "But at the risk of stopping you, I gotta ask, what have I done to deserve this?"

Unwilling to tell him, she fidgeted with the ends of his hair. "Nothing," she said eventually. "I just like you."

"Thanks," he leaned back, looking up at her with one of his rare, true smiles. "But I'm not buying it. Who upset you?"

"Nobody."

"Scully."

"Mul-der," she mimicked, tweaking his ear. He moved his head, feigning a dodge. "I'm serious," he insisted, "what happened? Did someone say something to upset you?"

She looked away, pressing her lips together, and involuntarily, her fingers dug a little deeper into his shoulder. "Nobody said anything," she lied, just a little too late. There was another pause, while Mulder worked it out. "Ah," he said, comprehension dawning, "so someone said something about _me._ Listen, Scully, I appreciate the hug, but really, don't get upset. I'm used to it." He looked up again, and the look on his face was familiar, good-humoured resignation. "Well, maybe I don't think you should have to be 'used to it'," Scully sighed, brushing her hand through his hair. He hummed, though whether in agreement or simply because he liked having his hair petted, she couldn't say. 

"It's okay," he sang quietly, as if he were trying to convince a child. "It's okay." He leaned against her, his face alight with affection. "Besides, I have Agent Scully on my side," he smiled, another of those rare smiles, and Scully curled around him, kissing the crown of his head and holding him tightly; and this time he responded properly, folding himself into her hold, returning it as best he could. "I guess I don't have to tell you this is why I didn't want to go," he said, muffled. She could feel the vibration of his voice. 

"They wouldn't have said anything if you'd gone," Scully answered quietly. "No," he agreed, "they wouldn't have said anything at all. It would've been me and you at the freaks' table. If I have to sit apart from everybody, I prefer doing it on my own terms, and where I don't hear anyone whispering."

"Sure, rub it in," Scully said ruefully. He gave a little huff of laughter, a warm exhale which rippled the front of her silk dress. "Hey, you mind if I stay and watch TV for a while?" She asked suddenly, leaning back to look down at him. He leaned out of her embrace, looking surprised. "Sure, yeah."

"I just wanna go change out of this dress."

"Do you have to?" 

"Ha, ha," she walked briskly from the room, leaving him sitting cross-legged and smiling on the bed, watching her leave--she thought appreciatively. Just like that, the feeling of being young and beautiful was back, the whisper and lightness of the silk as it fluttered around her. She was smiling as she let herself back into her own room, kicking off her heels in favour of something soft and flat, dropping the silk dress where she stood in order to swap it for her purple pyjamas. She set the kettle to boiling while she wiped off her make up, and then, armed with a mug of hot tea, she padded back across the hallway to Mulder's room. 

When she entered, he glanced up, and his face creased into a fond smile. "Oh," he said, "I loved the dress but I kind of like this better. Is that weird?"

"Yes," she replied warmly, climbing on to the empty side of the bed, her mug held carefully out to keep it from spilling. "What are we watching?" 

He held out his arm and she slid underneath it without comment, fitting herself against his side. "Old _M*A*S*H_ reruns," he answered. "Don't I get tea?"

"You can share mine. I used to love _M*A*S*H._ I liked Margaret." 

"You would," he agreed, accepting the mug of tea she held out. Scully leaned her head against his shoulder, as the _M*A*S*H_ theme tune started up, and breathed out a content sigh. "This is how I should've spent the night, huh." She curled up close, leaching some of his warmth. 

She expected smugness, for him to tell her, 'I told you so', but he surprised her. He leaned towards her, his cheek resting on the crown of her head, and softly murmured, "at least you're here now."

**Author's Note:**

> I did no research in writing this. Does the FBI do conventions? Do Americans even have kettles in their hotel rooms? I will never know. I've only seen up to s3 and it is a long road to Scullder actually getting together.


End file.
